Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Ambrosia
Okay, I need someone to tell me I’m completely dick-drunk and not head over heels for Dawson Sinclair.
I lean my shoulder into the doorway of the bathroom that leads to my bedroom, watching as he changes the sheets and bedding in his slutty little silk robe as he hums a Sabrina Carpenter song.
The silk robe hits him right at the tops of his thighs, so when he moves, I get a glimpse of that white ass of his and the butterfly tattoo that makes me feral.
He moves with the grace and precision that he brings to the ice and the field and, really, anywhere he goes.
He’s just so fucking confident and absolutely stunning.
He has a smug little grin on his face that tells me he knows he fucked me good. And he did. So damn good.
It’s always good.
Great.
Fuck. It’s so great.
We just vibe, and I want to devour him at every moment.
There is this wild, empowering feeling I get when I think about the fact that he’s never felt another pussy but mine.
No one has had his cock in them like I have, and it drives me to the edge every time.
I have never felt safe to explore butt fun, but with him, I crave it.
The first time he was behind me and spread my cheeks apart while groaning my name, I was begging him to play with my asshole.
Then when his mouth gets going, telling me to come and how gorgeous I am to him?
Yeah, he drives me insane with lust, and I want him at every turn.
Not just in bed, though. I want him everywhere.
With me.
While my pussy may be weeping at the sight of all that gorgeous man making the bed that we made a mess in, it’s my heart that is beating double time for him.
Because, like I knew he would, he made me fall fucking hard for him.
Like, face first hard.
Like, no coming back hard.
Like, I can’t think of my future without his damn dimples in it hard.
Damn it.
I just knew this would happen. I knew from the moment I saw those dimples that I was fucked.
I should have pushed him away harder; I should have ignored him completely, because if he breaks my heart, I’m ruined.
No man will compare. No man will live up to the standard he has set for me.
No man will make me feel the way he does.
Because there is no man like Dawson Sinclair.
And I will never love anyone the way I love him.
I thought I knew what love was.
Like, I really did. I thought love was comfort. Familiar. Predictable.
Something steady you could lean into without thinking twice.
I thought love was the quiet, everyday sort of thing—like knowing someone’s favorite coffee order or the way they rearrange blankets when they sleep. I thought it was feeding them until they burst. Laughing when they’re on the toilet because of too many tostones.
But apparently, love isn’t always gentle or safe or logical.
Apparently, love can sucker-punch you right in the gut and wipe out everything you thought you understood about your heart.
I never thought I’d be scared of a phone call, but every time his uncle Jude calls, I worry this will be it.
He’ll leave, and what if I can’t go with him?
Suddenly, love isn’t soft. It’s fucking loud.
It’s messy. It’s inconvenient. It’s someone waltzing into your life like they own oxygen, and instantly, you’re breathing different.
It’s arguing because you care, walking away, only to want them closer, telling yourself “no” while your entire soul screams “yes.”
I thought I knew love.
Turns out what I knew was comfort dressed as emotion.
This…whatever this is—the ache, the chaos, the stupid butterflies I pretend aren’t there—this is something else entirely.
Something only Dawson has created, and honestly, it scares the hell out of me.
But even feeling all those feelings, and knowing this could end at any moment, I have fallen so hard for him, I know there is no choice but to love him.
My heart seizes in my chest when he looks up from his side of the bed, his dimple showing in his left cheek as he drinks me in. He always does that, looks at me like he can’t get enough, and I live for it. “That was fast. You didn’t wash your hair?”
My heart sings in my chest. The guy knows my hair-washing schedule, and he even helps me with it. Guys before would laugh if I asked them to brush my hair since my arm gets tired, but Dawson was all about it. I mean, come on, how could I not fall for him for that right there?
And he brings me snacks while I’m waiting for the conditioner to set.
“I’ll do it tonight,” I say with a wave. “You didn’t have to make the bed by yourself.”
He comes over to me, gathering me in his arms, and my hands come to rest on his chest. He feels so solid, so good, so mine. I’m obsessed with him. “I’ll help tonight.”
“Don’t you have to study for that exam tomorrow?
“I can do that too,” he says, kissing my temple. “Listen, I need to go by my place. I need to grab some stuff, and Louis wants to have dinner.”
We’ve been so busy this week with school, workouts, and recording.
I was looking forward to a night in, but I didn’t realize he had made plans with his brother.
I shouldn’t be upset. He hasn’t hung with Louis by himself in weeks.
All his time has been mine, so I’m sure Louis is getting pissy, given how much he texts Dawson.
But still, I’m a tiny bit butthurt. More disappointed than I should be, I mutter, “Oh.”
He cocks his head to the side and then smiles. “With us.”
I bite my lip as our gazes lock. “I understand if you want to go alone.”
He scoffs. “Why the hell would I want that? I miss you too much when I’m not with you.”
My lips twitch. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, kissing my forearm. “Don’t like it.”
I grin. “It hurts.”
He nods as he moves past me to go to the bathroom. “It does. Zero stars.”
“Do not recommend.”
He pauses, looking down at me. He takes my jaw in his fingers and shakes his head. “Oh, I highly recommend missing you. It means you’re mine. And just so we’re clear, no one else gets to miss you like that. Only me.”
“Only you,” I say, going to my tippy-toes to kiss him. He pulls me in closer, and I can still taste myself on his mouth. When I pull back, against his lips, I say, “I love that you still taste like me.”
“Me too,” he says with a flirty wink before disappearing into the bathroom.
And just like that, I fall even harder for him. But I don’t tell him.
I have never told anyone outside of my family that I love them.
I want to say I felt in love before, but I never felt like this.
This all-consuming need to be with him every second of the day.
To give up my dreams to follow him wherever he goes, which is a scary thought all in itself.
I have always wanted to be a broadcaster for the NHL, but I almost said fuck it when Jude called.
If Dawson chooses the Chargers, I want to go.
I’ll keep my podcast, and I’ll be okay. I’ll still be deep in the hockey world.
Though that isn’t what I want.
But like the tattoo on his thigh says, I can change… Can’t I?
Would he let me?
Does he want me to follow?
I want to ask. I want to tell him I love him, but what if he doesn’t love me? I feel like he does. I mean, he looks at me like I’m the only person he sees. He is the first to introduce me as his girlfriend, and he loves my crazy mother and aunt.
And the sex is really good.
I can’t help but worry that it’s a big part of this.
Even as I think that, though, it doesn’t track. This thing between us has always been about the connection we share. But I worry if I tell him I love him and he doesn’t love me, I’ll look needy.
I should have left my walls up when it came to him.
Suddenly, his lips press to my cheek, and I smile as I tilt my head back to look at him. He smiles, his dimples on full display as he tells me, “Sorry, I had to get one more kiss.”
Then he presses his lips to mine, and I melt into a puddle.
My walls had no chance against the bull that is Dawson Sinclair.
And I don’t regret a damn thing.
The Rowe Report: Episode 1059: Having the Two-Man Advantage.
Matty Haverbrooke: Coming out and admitting who I loved was one of the scariest things I have ever done. I used to hit the ice and just wish I could tell him how proud I was of him. How, when I scored a goal, I wanted him to know I wanted to hug him first.
Wells Lemiere: I wanted all that, but he wouldn’t come out. So even though the thing between us was something neither of us had ever felt before, we parted ways.
Matty Haverbrooke: He was ready to marry someone else, and I couldn’t let it happen. I had to change. I had to become the man he needed off the ice.
Wells Lemiere: He was already that man, but he had to realize it.
Ambrosia Mercer: It’s hard, though, when fear gets in the way.
Wells Lemiere: Absolutely.
Ambrosia Mercer: My boyfriend has this amazing butterfly tattoo on his thigh that has the word metamorphosis underneath it, and when I first saw it, I was totally obsessed—hell, I still am—but I look at it now and realize that I’m ready for that change. That the fear can’t hold me back.
Matty Haverbrooke: Exactly, I couldn’t let the fear win. I had to let love. Our love. And now, he’s my forever.